


Soul Searching

by SynodicSoma



Category: Overwatch (Video Game)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Alternate Universe - Magic, Alternate Universe - Pirate, Alternate Universe - Soulmates, Demons, M/M, Slow Burn, idk what else to add so we'll add them as we go
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2021-01-11
Updated: 2021-01-11
Packaged: 2021-03-18 00:40:32
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 973
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28609203
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SynodicSoma/pseuds/SynodicSoma
Summary: Jamison Fawkes, once a rambunctious and rowdy young man, is now a quiet and somber Fool who plays his part as a joyful jester who's trapped by magical chains due to selling his soul to a demonic entity who's dubbed themselves as The Ringmaster.Taking on the new name, Junkrat, he has spent the last five years of his life within the hellish traveling circus. He works mindlessly, painting on and faking a smile each passing day for both the clueless crowds and for his own safety. Until Junkrat finds himself at a coastal city, the new destination of The Ringmaster's luring trap for adding more to their piling collection.On his hours off, Junkrat finds himself standing at the edge of the shore and staring off into the unending stretch of sea. Words can not describe why he does it every day, it just feels right. As if something or someone was reaching out across the watery depths for him. Searching for him.A new ship arrives in the harbor the next day at the dead of night. It's then Junkrat starts to see a large masked man attending every one of his shows. Finding himself unable to look away from the stranger as he dances, feeling a spark of what he'd call joy. Something he thought was lost years ago.
Relationships: Junkrat | Jamison Fawkes/Roadhog | Mako Rutledge
Comments: 1
Kudos: 9





	Soul Searching

**Author's Note:**

> Bearghost - Prelude 
> 
> "Let's begin your act  
> Just practice now  
> (Good)  
> A little smile will keep it down  
> They don't know you're faking  
> So sell it now  
> Don't let down all your fans"

Oh, to be a fool.

It’s quite a life. Frolicking and dancing to entertain the paying crowds. To put on a show to keep the money flowing by playing a part as a measly cog in a convoluted showbiz machine. As a fool, a jester, he was trained to be a source of delightment and enticing enjoyment for all that come to watch. To play as a helpless puppet in a shadow box show, where on stage nothing is the same. Carefree and joyous, bouncing, and playful is how he acted under the illuminating lights that blinded all from above and in front of hundreds of eyes watching his every move. Performing for the howling laughter and beaming smiles of a variety and an ever-changing crowd of cheering children and awestruck adults. 

Once the lights dim, the music stops, and the curtains close after the final bow did reality play catch up. Reality was never a kind thing. Shocking one’s system much like an ice cold bucket of water dumped over one’s head. Wakening the Fool from his delirious state, and opening his eyes for the first time in hours that blurred together. 

Behind the stage told a different story. A story of a lanky performer and his tale of playing a fool in an ever-moving circus, unwillingly chained in a contract he so foolishly sealed himself into after an empty promise was whispered into his ear and foolishly signing his name away.

Jamison J. Fawkes was once his name, but now he was known to the landlocked towns as the fire breathing and magical junker jester, Junkrat. The Fool of this tale. 

There Junkrat stays, bent over in his well practiced bow with one fist on his chest, his brightly colored clockwork of a prosthetic arm resting on the back of his boney hip, and his only foot poised upward while placing most of his weight onto his janky looking peg leg. He doesn't dare move as he struggles to catch his breath. Not even a mere inch as he hears the fading chatter and shuffle of the charmed horde of spectators making their exit. 

All is still for a blissful moment. Quiet, only his heaving gasps of breath and his own rush of blood pounding in his flushed ears. Junkrat just barely registers a set of even footsteps that echo faintly from behind him before an unwelcome yet all too familiar chilling touch is placed on his bare boney lower back. 

The jester grimaces, the melodious bells tied to the ends of his bright lime green and orange dyed hair jingles pathetically as he daringly risks lifting his head to meet the cold and analytical gaze of the Ringmaster. Hair slicked back, glossy, and as black as a raven’s iridescent feathers. A wicked twisted grin gingerly spreads across their pale, angular face. “Well done. You may stand, Fool.” 

Stand he did, those glowing ember eyes of his lowering to the worn wooden stage at his feet to avoid the piercing, calm stormy grey eyes of the poised Ringmaster. The uninvited hand on his lower back unnervingly glides up his boney spine bringing him back from his strange thoughts. Before he can so much as shiver as the chilling touch, the same hand suddenly grasps him by his pointed chin, making a quick jerking motion to get the performer to meet their harrowing and analytical gaze. 

“You smudged your makeup.”

The Ringmaster points out with a scoff, a disgusted sneer twisting across their pinched features. Wide amber eyes stare, boggled like a frightened rodent staring up at a looming predator. If the Fool weren't paralyzed by fear, he’d be shaking in his crakows while every bell that was tied to the ends of his hair jingle and chime in obvious distress. Yet, he somehow manages to restrain any signs of weakness. A sign he’s grown all to a custom to the Ringmaster and their judgment.

The Ringmaster’s thumb ghosts along the Fool’s lime green painted lower lip, “You were always such a pretty thing, my darling Fool. That is why I added you to my collection to begin with, but you’re slipping. I can’t present my prized puppet in such an awful state.” They lean in, their smile becoming tight and strained as their eyes widen in a haunting manner. “Now. Go. Fix. It.” 

Their smile bounces back to its cheerful nature as they release their hold on the jester’s chin, their ghostly pale hand patting Junkrat's cheek as a silent and meaningless way to comfort the man. The fool’s expression remains emotionless as he nods his head once as a wordless response, the small bells chiming at the swift and stiff movement. After that, he drops his gaze back to the wooden floor, finding the faded warm browns of the stage far more comforting than the cold grey ones that stare down at him.

The jester refuses to look up even as the same even and controlled footsteps pace their way back to where they came from. The Ringmaster calls out as they open the back door, “Next show is in five hours, my Fool. Do me proud, we wouldn't want a repeat of last week’s blunder, do we?” 

The fool doesn't answer and the Ringmaster doesn't wait for one. 

With a click of the door closing Junkrat once more stands alone on the dim and barren stage. A soft sorrowful hiccup echoes throughout the room as the fool finally relaxes, dropping his practiced pose and letting himself sink to his knees. He chokes back a heartbreaking sob by cupping his gloved hand over his mouth, but is far too late to stop the hot stream of tears from rolling down his painted cheeks blurring and smudging his makeup even more. 

Oh, to be a fool. 

A _silly_ fool, at that.

**Author's Note:**

> Not a meaty chapter, but it was fun to write out an intro this this world. 
> 
> Thanks for reading!


End file.
